The Smith Story
by Raggedy Dama
Summary: Never were there seven more honest-seeming witnesses; never was there a more undeniable fact than the inversion of John Smith's anatomical structure.


**Description: I don't own Doctor Who or any of the characters.**

**Chapter one: Intro**

Whether the case of John Smith is to be credited or not, is a pretty question in the value of evidence. On the one hand, we have seven witnesses- to be perfectly exact, we have six and a half pairs of eyes, and one undeniable fact; and on the other we have- how do you call it?-prejudice, common sense, the inertia of opinion. Never were there seven more honest-seeming witnesses; never was there a more undeniable fact than the inversion of John Smith's anatomical structure, and- never was there a more preposterous story than the one they have to tell!

The most preposterous part of the story is the same Smith's contribution( for I count him as one of the seven). Frankly, I believe there is something dubious about this whole business of John Smith, but what that factor of doubt is, I admit as frankly, I do not know. I have been surprised at the credit accorded to this case in the most unexpected and authoritative way. The fairest way to the reader, however, will be for me to tell it without further comment.

John Smith is, as you can already guess from his name, a free-born English-man. At least, that's what we've been told and rather simply, very little is known to us about his biography or from-coming. His father was an Alsatian, who came to England in the nineties, married a respectable English girl of unexceptional antecedents, and, died, after a _'tedious and uneventful'_ life( despite what my colleague believes...devoted, I understand, chiefly to the laying of parquet flooring), in 2010, Smith's age is twenty eight. He is, by virtue of his excellent knowledge of five( possibly more) languages, Modern Languages Master in a small private school in the South of England.

To the casual observer he is perfectly like any other Modern Languages Master in any other small private school. His costume is neither very costly nor very fashionable...I mean what with the bow tie and all, but, on the other hand, it is not markedly cheap or shabby; his complexion, like his height and his attitude, is quite unspectacular. You would notice perhaps that, like the majority of people, his face was not absolutely symmetrical, his right eye a little larger than the left, and his jaw a trifle heavier on the right side. If you, as an ordinary careless person, were to bare his chest and feel his heart beating, you would probably find it quite like the heart of anyone else. But here a trained observer would like to disagree with you.

If you found his heart quite ordinary, the trained observer would find it quite otherwise. And once the thing was pointed out to you, you too would perceive the peculiarity easily enough. I'm not going to tire you further with my overly dramatic descriptions, as my _colleague_ has ever gently pointed out; it is that Smith's heart beats also on the right side of his body. In short, John Smith has got two hearts.

However, it has taken much longer for us to come to that conclusion. From the beginning, we have been utterly convinced that by some odd circumstances, Smith's heart, unlike a normal person's, beats on his right breast. It was much later that we found out the impossible, yet undeniable truth, for providing the proof of which, it required us: a package of Lucky Strike Cigarettes, a bird in a cage and a second hand record store. No, I'm not going to explain how we've figured it out.

Anyway, once we've stated our first false assumption, Smith, not only agreed with that, but also hurried to assure us that it is, in fact, not the only singularity of his structure. Although, logically, it is the one that would appeal to the untrained mind. Smith, careful sounding of his internal arrangements, pointed us to the fact that all the other unsymmetrical parts of his body are similarly misplaced. The right lobe of his liver is on the left side, the left on his right; while his lungs too, are similarly contra-posed. What is still more amusing,( unless Smith is a consummate actor) we must believe that his right hand has recently become his left.

Since the occurrences we are about to consider( as impartially as possible), he has found the utmost difficulty in writing except right to left across the paper with his left hand. According to him, he is unable to throw with his right hand, he is perplexed at meal times between knife and fork, and his ideas of the rule of the road- he is a cyclist- are still a dangerous confusion. And there is ridiculously not a scrap of evidence to show that before these... occurrences John Smith was at all left handed.

There is yet another wonderful fact in this preposterous business. The Yard, a certain witness and Smith produce for us three photographs of him. In the first one, you have him seated on a swing, thrusting awfully long legs at you. Instantly and quite naturally, we paid close attention to his appearance and noticed that his left eye is a little larger than his right, and his jaw is a trifle heavier on the left side. This is the reverse of his present living conditions. The photograph, that Smith showed us, seems to contradict those facts, but that is because it is one of those cheap 'Gem' photographs that were then in vague, taken direct upon metal, and therefore reversing things just as a looking-glass would. The third photograph confirms the record of the others. There seems here evidence of the strongest confirmatory character that Smith has exchanged his left side for his right. Yet how a human being can be so changed, short of a fantastic and pointless miracle, it is exceedingly hard to suggest.

In the retrospect, we've indeed been more than baffled by this discovery, that is before we checked, re-checked and researched the timelines of the photos and once again we were left speechless. As it turns out the age of John Smith proceeds through the three uniquely taken pictures, all the way from him at the age of five or six, to the one where he is represented( supposed) at twenty one. Yet his general appearance in the photographs, as his looks now, never falters and not a trace of oldness( or the lack of, at some point) shows. At all.

* * *

"Did you have to lie to the guards that we're here from the committee of Lost Notes Preservation? They actually trusted us...hopefully."

The very not amused form of Clara Oswin demanded, rushing through the large double doors and striding to the centre of the hall, where his friend was. The Doctor acknowledged the girl with a small smile and immediately sprung to his feet, discarding himself of the round spectacles in the process.

"Oh but, my dear Clara," he said, while neatly putting the glasses into the inside pocket of his coat. "those who don't trust us, can not be deceived. Now, can they?"

Clara opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, shaking her head. "No. I guess they can not."

"What are you reading?" She asked, peering at the journal in the time lord's hand, the cover of which was awfully worn out, hinting at the decades of being used.

"Nothing. Something- something science-y, something creative...something very very..._cool_."

"Cool?"

"Yes."

Clara snorted, snaking her hand into the crook of his arm. "Maybe you could read that brilliant piece on the way to the TARDIS. This place gives me the creeps..."

"It's a museum."

"A very _creepy_ museum. Just how many years have we leapt into the future exactly?"

"Fifty." She regarded him with a skeptical look.

"Alright, maybe more."

"Should I stop expecting an accurate transportation for once?" Clara asked, with a raised brow, not really hiding the teasing undertone in her question.

"Don't be ridiculous." The Doctor handled the journal in his right hand, so that he could hold Clara's with his other, unoccupied one. " You shouldn't have started expecting, in the first place."

"Knew it."

"Yes. After all, it's only another singularity of John Smith's character."

"What?"

"Nothing."

**AN: First contribution to the Doctor Who fandom. This is going to be a three or four shot fic, I just didn't want to post it all right away. The idea has popped into my head as a reault to reading a lot of short science fiction stories... Wells in particular.**

**I wonder if you have already figured out whose journal it is... I bet you did. Anyway, I didn't want to make this a crossover, since the only characters that are going to make appearance in this story, are Clara and The Doctor. No warnings for pairings 'cause there will be none.**

**Did you like it and should I proceed?**


End file.
